Not shaken or stirred, but blended

Q’s favorite Bond

My 7 y/o is currently obsessed with James Bond.  He gave up Star Wars at about the same time that George Lucas sold the galaxy to Disney.   Coincidental?  Perhaps.  If you offer him something to drink, it is completely plausible that he will request a martini, shaken not stirred.  It’s adorable.  Well, to me it is because I’m his mom.  Someone else might find it obnoxious or cheeky, but I’ve always had a soft spot for 007.  And my children, of course.

Over the recent holidays, I did some reflecting on my own memories of the Christmas season and I thought about a family from my childhood who taught me what a blended family might look like.  There was a mom and a dad and a daughter.  And an ex-husband and the children shared by he and the mom.  And the ex-husband’s son from his second marriage.  And also the son from the Dad’s first marriage.  The kids all referred to each as brother and sister and the relationships seemed pretty relaxed and fluid, kind of like a well mixed martini.  They were Italian-American and Westchester Jewish, a combination which resulted in great food and wonderful traditions. I loved them and everything they taught me about family and love and backgammon, truly.

As a divorced parent*, I might one day find myself in a similar position.  You know, blending children and families and friends with a partner.  I’d like to think  I can do it with as much tasteful grace.  I know that none of those relationships was perfect, I mean what is?, but the central thread of children which wove them all together created an inspiring family fabric, a patchwork quilt that gave at least as much comfort as a familiar cocktail, I imagine.  How about you?  Do you have any experiences like this to share?  Grab yourself a cocktail and share, why don’t you?

*I’m not a “single mom.”  The boys very much have two parents.

Ghost anniversaries

Are wedding anniversaries like phantom limbs? You know, you can kind of still feel them even though they no longer actually exist. The remains of what was once there can create an almost physical twinge despite the fact that it is no longer present as anything but a memory.

Two couples I know recently marked their 20th anniversaries – one with a lovely dinner al fresco, the other with the decision to acknowledge the end of their marital partnership. I guess these examples support the often quoted figure that 50% of marriages end in divorce. Do you think it is possible to predict at a wedding ceremony which marriages are going to remain intact and which are going to end before death doth them part? I don’t. Personally, I don’t believe anyone plans to not live happily ever after.

I know that love and intentions and hopes and dreams were very much a part of my wedding day. I married on an early afternoon so cloudless that our photographer complained about the lack of shadows. The best man saw a majestic blue heron take off as he drove to the ceremony, an obvious sign of nature’s blessings even to the most jaded. We had a totally cool wedding date – month, date and year expressed with a concise number of digits. Perfect.

However, 18 years from that day, as I ran under a cloudy, darkening sky, I wore the marital status “divorced” rather than that beautiful emerald-cut diamond ring I received when I accepted his proposal. Ugh.

As I ran though, I smiled to myself as I recalled that my groom and I found ourselves alone following our wedding reception’s conclusion, red Ford Escort wagon parked in the lot and strung with cans, without the keys to drive ourselves to the next destination. Really. A phone call or two resolved that roadblock, and we joined our friends at their hotel to shuttle to another location for dancing and drinks. We were not ready for our day to end – we were having far too much fun. We all piled into the hotel’s courtesy bus, but as we began to pull away I realized my groom was being left behind. He missed the bus. Literally.

There were, as I said, no clouds. There are no regrets for having spent nearly twenty years sharing my life with a man who I once was very happy to call my husband. Sometimes, though, anniversaries are to be celebrated as the date when two became one, while other times they are simply reminders of a former life, once whole but, now forever severed.

The day I got divorced

The sun was shining, but the wind was chilly. I went to the gym and used heavy weights that I knew would leave me sore the next day. I picked up my completed tax returns (married, filed separately) and discovered I might be able do some home projects. I realized that just like the wedding is a minuscule part of the marriage, the divorce finalization is a blip on the Geiger counter of the relationship’s ultimate decay.

It had been a long time coming. No, it wasn’t the transgressions, it was truly the knowing that together we would go no farther. We were done. Not with the children and parenting them, but with each other. I was more exhausted than sad, shaking my head with bemusement, wondering why it was so easy to remember when the love started, not so easy (all right, impossible) to recall when it began to fade. Like childbirth, you simply forgot.

Being successfully married (insert your definition here) is always described as being “hard work,” and you know I don’t mind working hard. It’s just that I ended up finding other things which I invested my time and effort in to provide better returns. I’m a romantic, but I’m also brutally practical. I wasn’t getting enough and I couldn’t give more. Period.

The word divorce comes from the Latin “divert, or change direction,” an apt etymology that parallels my own path. I still don’t have a map, but a change in direction is something one can choose to embrace or to shun. Life is too short to snub change.

The day I got divorced was today.

The half life of neglect

According to Wikipedia Half Life is defined as the period of time it takes for the amount of a substance undergoing decay to decrease by half. It’s radioactive decay. I’m not really a science girl – I appreciate the nurturing it takes for something to grow and I know that my health has been directly improved because of medicine (including radiation) and science, but, for the most part, I don’t really get it. And, honestly, I’m not even that curious.

When I run, I exercise my mind. During last night’s trot around the neighborhood, my thoughts were bouncing around – pausing on relationships that have inspired me. Inspired me to see things in a different way, to learn about myself and what makes me happy, to make changes in myself and my life. From out of nowhere, the concept of half lives flew into my mind and landed with a thud and I realized that I could apply that concept to two of my longest duration relationships quite neatly.

If you know me or possess the ability to read between the lines with perception, you’ve probably gathered that my mother and I don’t share an easy relationship. It took me 30 years, a good friend’s sage observations and a boatload of therapy to realize that, on many levels, I lived a childhood of neglectful. Understand, she was never, ever abusive but she just didn’t have the capacity to address my emotional needs. No blame here, no anger (used that up as a teen), no judgment, just reality.

I guess I should consider it progress that it only took me half as long, til the age of 45, to wake up to the fact that my fundamental complaint about my marriage was a lack of emotional care giving. This isn’t a criticism of my former spouse. I don’t think either of us realized how much I yearned for someone to take care of me from the inside and I’m at least equally guilty of neglecting that part of myself. My own inability to recognize and ask for what I needed was radioactive poison causing decay, no doubt.

I know I can’t decontaminate either of those prior relationships and I’m more than okay with that. I’d like to think that the part of me that has been becoming progressively smaller is the part that tolerates being neglected, by me, and by those whom I allow into my life. In the big picture, even a half life is far too much time to waste.

Land ahead, Columbus!

I forget sometimes that I run for clarity – to be able to see better.  Despite thoroughly enjoying my genuine two complete days off in a row, I was feeling punky today.  Yes, precisely punky, I’d say.  I was able to rationalize my funk as being the result of too much wine and not enough exercise over the holiday weekend, but there was something else.  Something that made me feel off.

I watched a sweet but sad excuse for a romantic comedy and then forced myself to put some running clothes on and get on out there.  I was barely .25 mile in when I realized without a doubt what was niggling around in my head… 

Exactly one year ago this weekend, my neighbor, Ken Ragsdale drew a picture (is this the right word? is there a more correct artsy word I should know?) of the view of Arcadia Avenue looking out from his front porch.  That perfect piece of his work now hangs in my house.  And, Columbus Day 2010 was when I, too, began to gaze intently at a similar view but somehow my eyes went beyond Arcadia Avenue, and I began to see all kinds of things I hadn’t before noticed.  Or perhaps, even wanted to notice, would be a more accurate assessment.  Ah, yes, the hindsight view.

The path from thinking “nothing will ever change,” to living a life that is more vital than ever before, is disconcerting sometimes.  Thank goodness for DelSo – it certainly eliminates having to explain a lot of things individually to people since it’s all here! 
 

There were layers and layers of emotion that were stripped away, some with a slow erosion, others with something more akin to the proverbial band-aid rip, and, happily, what remains is a true concern for one another and a sincere hope for all future happiness.  No longer casting for stability and safety with one another, but instead discovering a future that involves explorations to different places.  Happy trails ahead.

Confession: at 45 years + 3 days

image from messiahmom.com

I am vain.  Yep, there you have it.  In print.  Well, sort of in print.

I just went for my first run in my new year.  It was really hard – it was humid and I have been indulgent this week, as I should be.  Despite the challenges, I’m pleased I went because I always feel inspired when I run.  My appetite for fresh food and mental exercise is stimulated and I come home tired but anticipating the next opportunity to stretch my muscles, wanting just a little more…

My thoughts during those 4 miles this afternoon began with something  I wrote down before leaving the house:

It’s not how far you go, it’s how far you’ve come.

That statement sums up a big part of my life’s philosophy.  Am I conceited or egotistical? Yes, both, but I earned every thread of confidence I wear.  There are so many ways a person’s life can go and the fact that I am where I am at this exact moment in time is because of the choices I made and the work I’ve invested – in education, and building relationships, and living with the decisions I’ve made over the years.

There aren’t many things I’ve wanted in my life that I haven’t gotten.  Consider yourself warned.  The “things” I’ve wanted and haven’t been able to hold on to, were never really “things,” anyway.  I mean, I’ll never know my father or trust my mother or have a husband for my entire life, but that all is about yesterday and I think overall, I’m doing ok.  Perhaps, even better than that.

Anticipating opportunities to stretch one’s muscles and wanting a little more ain’t just for running….

Table for 5 (or why dinner as a family can be continued despite impending divorce)

I believe most people get married believing it is forever, not for ever. Introducing children to a relationship adds some additional concrete to the mix and, when all is said and done within the marriage and it is time to move on from being a couple, the presence of children continues to cement the two of you together for the imaginable future. Obvious, right? Nothing ground-breaking, just classic, common sense.

Although it is evident that every marriage has its own unique set of circumstances, it seems that divorces meet a few consistent themes. Usually they involve a quality of life diminishment, damage to the children, complicated visitation and financial arrangements, a complete re-writing of the holidays and traditions…

Positive impacts of divorce, and there is the potential for there to be some, aren’t spoken about in anything above a whisper. Things like more focused parenting, increased time for personal interests and pursuits, less conflict, opportunities to rewrite holidays and traditions…

Every family has meaningful rites, whether it is the appreciative phrase one says as they arrive safely at home, or a special song played during a particular annual car trip. Things that have significance. I think most of these rituals are priceless, yet cost nothing. Why wouldn’t a family want to continue these traditions? With some sensitivity and humor, I think it can (and should) happen – everyone benefits.

So, we gathered together as a family of five for a few days at the beach and everyone survived, I mean thrived. Picnic lunches were shared, our natural rhythm of tag team parenting easily fell back into place, and we went to our family’s beach joint for a meal, where we sat together as a party of five. Instead of the boys recalling this as the summer their parents split, maybe they’ll remember making some more family beach memories with Mom and Dad. And we’ll all try to remain cognizant that a table for five is a privilege, not a punishment.